


Golden Light

by Muucifer



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Anal Sex, M/M, Pole Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 16:34:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1354198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muucifer/pseuds/Muucifer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John dances for a living. It’s all he can do. Besides, there’s someone in the crowd he’s watching.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Golden Light

**Author's Note:**

> I'm actually pretty sick right now and I wrote this all in one sitting, so Im sure theres a lot of mistakes. Im really sorry about that :c Feel free to point them out to me so I can fix them!

Orange eyes watch his every movement. Every twist and curl, every shudder and gasp, every spasm and calculated hitched breath. He twirls his pale body around the post, sliding down to the ground only to bend back up and re-loop his ankles around the top. It’s mesmerizing, he knows. He knows because if it wasn’t, he’d never have men line up to see him do this. Men like the blonde with the orange eyes that’s come every night for the past two weeks.

He stood out, John figures, because he had shades on; these god-awful pointy things that had no business in a strip club. But sometimes, when John would bend backwards and toss a coy smile his way, he could see the orange that lie hidden behind panes of black. With a color like that, it made sense to hide them. This area was dog-eat-dog, and something like that would be cause for alarm.

Spin, slide, arch; John moves to the music that surrounds the stage. They paid to get a show, and he put his everything into it. There was nothing else he could do, after all. Some tossed wadded bills at the base of the pole, others hooted loudly and cheered for him but offered nothing else. Those that threw more got a well planned roll that brought his perfectly round ass direct to their view. More than once he’d been slapped, but as long as they didn’t try to cop a feel, he would let it slide.

Orange eyes never tossed money during his routine, never said a word. He watched, and he smirked, but he kept to himself and John couldn’t help but want to treat him because he was there every night. John locked his thighs around the pole, bending back until his body lay on the floor, only to slowly draw himself back up as sensually as possible. One leg out, he brought the other up and twirled around the pole. Maybe he could have been a real dancer if he was born anywhere but here, if life wasn’t so cruel.

At the end, he let his body slink off the pole and made a show of strutting down the catwalk to the curtains in the back. Once there, he was greeted by the all-too familiar scent of perfume and booze, pats on the back and well-meaning _good job_ ’s from others he nearly called family. They were really all he had, anyway. The skimpy outfit is replaced by something more conservative, a shirt and shorts to fight the sticky hot air of the club while keeping him covered. He dabs his makeup, fixing where sweat rolled it off, then fluffs his hair back into its natural wind-blown mess.

The backroom is always cooler than the front, less bodies mashed together and more breathing room, so when John ventures back out he’s glad he opted for the shorts. Plus it lets his silky smooth legs rub together as he walks, and no matter what that will always be a feeling he loves. Across the floor, the bar calls his name and he makes his way there with minimal fuss, most men already focused on the next dancer for the night. A few jostle him, but promptly apologize and shuffle away.

Once there, John parks his bottom on a tall, red stool and spins around to greet the bartender. She offers him a smile before turning to fix up his usual after-work drink. A few other guys mill around, drinking themselves into debt because that’s all there really is to do besides throw money at the pole, but they pay him no mind. After his shift, he’s just another lowlife who wants a drink.

Next to him a warm body appears, unobtrusive from its seat and lacking in the scent of stale beer that permeates the others. He turns his head, confused and annoyed because regardless of how pleasant they smelled this was his relax time and he doesn’t have time to be shooing some guy off. His protests catch when he realizes it’s the blonde with the orange eyes; slumped but unmoving. He almost looks nervous, fingers rolling the glass of amber colored liquid parked between them.

John goes to speak but is cut off, not impolitely, “You’re always quite popular.” It’s odd, he thinks, that orange eyes would use that as his opening line. Usually it’s the same old, “Hey baby you free?”

He considers his answer, laughing, “Well yes, of course.” Apparently his lighthearted response breaks whatever ice the man had constructed himself, and John’s afforded a small smile. “You’re here often,” nod, “To see me?” This stops him, he turns and although from the distance John can’t see them he imagines those eyes scanning him over.

“I guess I am.” A noncommittal shrug. John giggles, easy and soft. His own drink is placed before him, company with a look from the bartender that lets him know if he needs anything, she’s there.

“John. That’s my name, if you were curious. Which I mean, if you aren’t that’s fine but usually guys don’t come to see me every night for two weeks without wanting in my pants.”

A snort, “Dirk, that’s mine. You counted?”

He hesitates, usually faces blurred together while he was dancing, in fact unless they were there often he never made a point to notice them. Made it weird. He taps his fingers to the rims of his own glasses, “You stand out a bit.”

“Ah. Yeah I guess I would.” A half-frown, “Also I don’t just want in your pants, that’d be rude.” Rude. John barks out a laugh that quickly melts into a fit of laughter. He was interesting, that was for sure. Wiping a stray tear from his eye, careful not to smudge the leftover makeup more than necessary, John can’t help but notice he was interesting _and_ hot. Toned arms greet him from under the too-tight fabric of the male’s shirt, and a strong jawline beckons him.

“So what do you want, then? A private show, cause lemme tell you those are expensive.” He dots the sentence with a wink, hoping to convey they joke. In return, Dirk squints at him, all seriousness and contemplation.

“Alright.” Wait. What? John stutters, unable to form words. Dirk continues, “I’ll pay you, for a private dance I mean. Is there an extra room?” John blinks at him, all wide-eyes and confusion.

“Uhm, uh, yeah? In the side rooms?” Before he can finish his drink he’s being swept off, warm fingers looped lightly around his wrist; just enough to pull not enough to intimidate. This guy was careful. The room they find is dim lit, red lights casting dull shadows across the walls and floors. It’s hardly used; private shows are too much for this part of town. Dirk settles himself down on the couch, facing the single pole standing in the center of the room. “Don’t you even wanna know how much?”

Dirk shakes his head, “No I’ll pay, don’t worry. Just do your thing.” More than a little nervous, John steps up to the pole, but a quick glance at Dirk calms him down; all he has to do is do what he does.

So he dances. He spins and flips and twirls, he arches his body and rotates his hips. He shows off every curve and every dip, he shows of the movements he can. Dirk doesn’t seem to mind the shirt or the shorts blocking his view, but John shimmies out of them during his act. They fall off with precise movements, integrating into the performance with little effort. The next time John hooks his legs around the pole and brings the other out, the panties from his show cling to him easier and his body breathes better, accepting the near-nakedness.

He settles into his skin and into his motions, rolling and bending this way and that while Dirk watches him. Eventually the shades are discarded and he can feel the fire heat that traces every inch of pale flesh on display. He does bits that he can’t do on stage, he lets himself be free and do whatever he pleases because Dirk told him too. At the end, he slides down to the floor with a flourish, collapsing and out of breath the moment Dirk begins his applause. There’s something oddly comforting about the sound of one pair of hands clapping, knowing only one person witnessed him being as free as he possibly could be.

Dirk’s in front of him, hands out stretched and lips twitched up in the briefest of smiles. John takes the offered help, letting Dirk tug him to his feet. Wordlessly, Dirk pulls out a wallet – old and leather but in wonderful condition – and hands him a small stack of bills. A quick glance shows the amount to be far more than he was going to charge. Before he can protest, shove the money back, run out, Dirk’s lips are on his; soft and undemanding.

He tastes like oranges and whiskey spice. It’s soothing; John leans into it, reaching up to tangle his fingers in the stiff blonde spikes. Dirk swipes his tongue across the seam of their lips, begging John to open to which he complies immediately. He lets Dirk explore his mouth, traversing every cranny and lick across his teeth. Elsewhere, Dirk’s hands find the cooling patch of skin just above his panties, resting as innocently as possible. John mewls into Dirk’s mouth, reaching down to move Dirk’s hands behind him.

Once Dirk takes the initiative, kneading the plump backside while completely dominating John’s mouth, John becomes putty in his hands. Small fingers cling to the fabric of a bright, white shirt, clawing at it harmlessly. Dirk’s hands spread him open, then press him back together. The teasing air across his entrance makes him gasp, and Dirk swallows that down as breathlessly as John had let it out. He feels himself back into the touch, urging Dirk to do more than just touch him. It’s shameless and shameful all at once. He pulls back.

Dirk watches him, watches the uncertainty flit through his eyes, and with a cough he mutters, “So will that be extra?” John laughs. He laughs because it’s perfect and silly and he pulls his clothes on only to drag Dirk out the door and down the hall. He leads the blonde outside and the cold night air does nothing to deter him. Dirk understands and escorts John back to his car, parked away from the club on a well-lit road. Smart thinking. John’s scrambles to get in despite how much of a bad idea this could be, but he doesn’t want to stop.

They practically fly back to Dirk’s apartment when John insists that Dirk wouldn’t want to see his. He’s glad he agreed. Dirk’s flat is in a nice part of town, all brightly lit contentness and well-dressed street-goers. It explains a lot that he doesn’t bother to dwell on as he’s hauled up the stairs and kissed against a door. The handle turns behind his back and they stumble through onto a fold out couch. Dirk’s hand cover every inch of skin, baring it all in just moments as he works the brunette out of his revealing clothes.

John lifts his body to help, tugging at Dirk’s along the way until they’re both wonderfully bare. Hot skin presses against hotter skin, meeting as they sweat and move together. Dirk’s body covers his own, all hard contours and muscle. It’s mesmerizing, and John takes is time running his fingers over as much as he can. Dirk sits back, looking down as John traces unintelligent designs into gold skin. When he’s done, John brings his hand to rest next to the pulsing erection that bobs above him. Dirk’s hands take their time plotting out John then, roaming this way and that, tickling and fluttering over all the sensitive spots that John didn’t know existed.

When Dirk’s fingers find his cock, flushed and beading pre, they give it long, light touches. Pleasurable but not nearly enough. John bucks into it, urging Dirk to do more than taunt him. Dirk’s voice finds his ears, “Such a beautiful body, you know. Of course you know, the way you flaunt it on stage you’d have to know,” and John smiles. It’s nice, being told he’s beautiful. He tells Dirk that, who then quirks an eyebrow, “What do people usually call you?” Then he pauses, “Oh. Nevermind.” Whatever conclusion he’d come to, it was probably right. John pushes his hips into Dirk’s, pleading for more.

Thin lips find his again, this time stopping only briefly before moving down. Teeth catch and nip his jaw, throat, collar. Anywhere Dirk would like to leave a mark. And John knows. He knows because as much as he knows Dirk wants to, he’s keeping every bite and every suck light enough to keep his skin clear. John wants to be marked, he grabs Dirk’s head and presses it harder, trying to tell him without saying a word. Dirk gets it. He sinks his teeth down into the supple flesh of John’s shoulder, lapping at it apologetically and sucking it tenderly. John shudders and begs for more.

Dirk’s hands lift his hips, repositioning them to rest on top of Dirk’s where he kneels on the futon. The moment his hands let go, John locks his ankles behind Dirk’s back and pulls him closer. It’s impossibly hot in the tiny space between their body but they’re not close enough. John claws at Dirk’s back, gasping and squirming as the blonde marks up his neck and chest with a myriad of bruises and bite marks. It’s wonderful to be marked, claimed, and not feel used.

The snap of a bottle snaps him back to his senses. Dirk gives him a look, questioning and hesitant. In response, John bucks his hips up against Dirk and lets out a drawn out moan. He wants it, needs it, and Dirk gives it too him. His slick fingers brush against the burning skin surround his pucker, letting the liquid heat up as he smears it across John’s taint and swirls his fingers around the quivering hole. He doesn’t ask if John’s a virgin, doesn’t say a word as John’s body accepts the intrusion with minimal fuss. Dirk just presses the single digit as far as it will go before crooking it just so.

A second finger slides in almost as easy as the first, accompanied by a breathless noise as John gasps out. Dirk rotates them, twisting and bending them to rub at John insides. He nudges that spot that makes John shudder, once, twice, then he pulls back and slips in a third finger. Three spread him open, and John whimpers at the burn. It’s not bad, and he soon acclimates to it, even rolling his hips down onto Dirk’s hand to encourage more. Dirk focuses all three on John’s prostate, stroking it with languid motions that leave John writhing under him. When John demands to be fucked, Dirk yanks his hand back and grabs for a condom.

John doesn’t hide the hurt that crosses his face, he doesn’t know why but he expected Dirk to fuck him with no barrier between them. But he was a stripper, a lowly pole dancer, of course Dirk would be wary. John could have all kinds of diseases. Dirk’s too busy rolling the latex over his cock to notice John’s inner turmoil. His breath sputters when John’s small hands finish for him, settling lightly at the base of Dirk’s cock. He nudges the older male back until he can straddle him, lining Dirk up with his entrance as he goes.

Thighs nestled firmly against Dirk’s hips, John uses one hand to guide Dirk inside while he lowers himself down. His other hand grasps at Dirk’s chest, spreading out and furling back in. Dirk finds it with his own, lacing their fingers together. His other settles on John’s waist, a comforting weight as he takes Dirk’s to the hilt. It stretches him, leaving him full and open and oh so loved.

It’s weird, he thinks. The feeling of being loved. Especially by some man he’s only just learned his name. But as Dirk stares up at him, it’s the only feeling he could pinpoint. Feeling full moves from pleasurable to heartwarming, and as he raises himself only to drop back down and bury Dirk deeply back inside, he feels the warmth settle in his heart.

Dirk’s hand doesn’t leave his own, even as he can tell the other wants to grab and flip him over. They stay locked together, and Dirk uses just one hand to instruct John’s movements. He doesn’t need it, they both know that, but John enjoys it anyway. It’s anchoring. Keeping him grounded.

The burn in his thighs moves up to his gut, settling in the pit there and coiling like a snake. It races through his blood, leaving him gasping for air as he bounces himself faster and faster. Dirk begins to jerk up into him as he falls, meeting him halfway and seating himself with deep, powerful thrusts.

When John slows, legs tiring after being in use all night, Dirk takes the chance and lips them over. He cradles John to his chest, tucking him in tight and nuzzling his face down in the younger male’s pale, marked throat. His hips never stutter, rocking into John with earnest. John’s feet slip along the back of Dirk’s thighs, sweaty and tired but trying so hard to shove Dirk closer, move him harder.

Dirk leans back, fingers catching John’s knees and raising them up. He kisses the inside of one, and John grateful for his flexibility as Dirk fucks down into him despite the odd angle. John reaches out to him without meaning to, grabbing at Dirk’s neck and shoulders. Large arms furl around his back, pulling him back onto Dirk’s lap. He winds his body around Dirk’s.

The new angle had Dirk spasmodically ramming against his prostate, and the excitement and randomness has John whimpering Dirk’s name. He doesn’t manage a warning before he shoots off between their chests, leaving a sticky white mess as his body empties itself. His cock twitches long after he’s done, stimulated by Dirk’s messy attempt to reach his own peak.

John feels Dirk’s body tighten under him, his release pulsing through him as he spills into the condom. The latex doesn’t deter the warmth that sinks into John, and he shudders one final time as Dirk slips his softening cock out and discards the condom. They stretch out together, John’s pretty head resting on Dirk’s chest and his lithe form folded into Dirk’s side. Toned arms tug him closer, and Dirk cards a hand through John’s mussed hair. Deeming it a lost cause, Dirk drops it to the back of John’s neck, rubbing his thumb lightly over the silky skin hidden there.

John laughs, tired but light, “So do I get paid extra?” A snort.

“No way. Unless you’re serious then uh, yeah I guess.” There’s unease in his voice, awkwardness. Dirk doesn’t want that. Dirk wants him as much as he wants Dirk.

He stops, peering up at Dirk despite the – he now realizes – darkness of their surroundings, “It’s a joke. I, uhm, well.” He can’t force the words to come, instead he surges up and latches his mouth to Dirk’s and drinks him down. Affection, need, he tries to push all his feelings into the kiss, and when he pulls back Dirk looks a bit struck. “I’ll just. Go. Yeah.” He rolls away, wincing when the ache in his body jolts in all the wrong ways. Before he can take a step forward, Dirk’s shooting up and grabbing at him to pull him back. He tumbles onto his lap, light-headed and dizzy.

“No, please don’t go. I was looking for you. This whole time.” John’s breath catches; looking for him? Fear settles over him, and Dirk notices from the way he stiffens, “I bumped into you. You probably don’t remember but I got my dumb ass lost in the bad part of town and when I turned the corner I knocked you down.”

John nods, because he does remember that. He remembers seeing the face of a man who looked utterly hopeless and far too nicely dressed to be alone in the part of the city. The man had pulled him to his feet, apologized once, very quickly and quietly. It was sketchy, but John gently placed a hand on his arm and told him how to get back to the main road that would lead him right back to the upper town.

He never forgot the look of relief that crossed the guy’s face. It was the first time someone had thanked him. He remembers because he spent night laying in bed wondering what would happen if he had gotten the guy’s number or name. He’d let it go because surely a guy like that was _married_. John never thought he’d come back to look for him.

“You’re welcome.” It’s out of his mouth before he can stop it, shy and quiet, just like it was when he’d muttered it after the man had ran off. Dirk blinks slowly, then a grin begins to form. He presses it to John’s lip, spreading the happiness to him as well, filling him full of sunshine and citrus.


End file.
